Hans was fond of Tessa. She did not doubt that.
And she had more than enough love in her heart for both of them. Surely, his devotion for Betsy Zook would diminish over time and there would be room enough in his heart to love Tessa.
Hans and Willie were down by the shoreline, skimming rocks on top of the water. Tessa stayed close to the fire, keeping it stoked with leaves and sticks, because the brisk wind had a bite to it. After a while, Hans left Willie to carry on and joined her, plopping on the sand beside her, elbows on his knees. For a long while, he didn’t speak. He took off his hat but kept turning it around and around by the brim, as if he was collecting his thoughts and carefully choosing his words.
Then, out of the blue, he started to talk about Betsy Zook, about memories he shared with her, about their plans to marry. Tessa found herself with uncommonly little to say. What was there to say? Nothing. And so she just listened to him as he described Betsy’s many virtues. My oh my, she was nearly reaching sainthood! Tessa silently scolded herself. Surely a devil’s spirit seized her thoughts.
Hans glanced at Tessa and his haunted expression told her plainly that he would never cease loving Betsy. Never. She turned her face from him and bowed her head.
“John Elder is convinced Betsy was killed, soon after the raid.”
Tessa thought so too. Why else would they not have heard word of Betsy or Johnny Zook from someone, somewhere? Penn’s Woods had many eyes and ears. “How would he know of such a thing?”
“He seems to have a unique understanding of the ways of savages. Better than most.”
Tessa’s father would heartily disagree. He thought John Elder was a nut.
“John Elder has admonished me to accept that Betsy Zook is part of the past and that my life must go on.” There was a short silence before he added, “But there is still something to be done for her.” He sat up to face Tessa, reached out and took her hands, enveloping them in his own. “You understand, don’t you?” he said quietly.
She did. She understood in some vague way that his affection was not intended for her, but for Betsy Zook.
“We will form a family, you and I and poor Willie.”
Tessa’s heart started to pound; she was sure he could hear it.
“Tessa, when you turn sixteen, I want you to be my wife.”
Her stomach did cartwheels and color surged to her face. She counted the months, the years, she’d been waiting for this moment. This moment! It was as if her tongue had vanished from her head and she was unable to express any words, but as she looked at him, her heart spoke for her. It shouted out an ear-splitting Yes!
Monongahela River
November 1, 1763
The days had grown short and the sun had become distant. When the corn was harvested and seed was scored from the dried cobs, some of the village men loaded it into canoes, the very ones that Caleb had fashioned from hollowed logs, and proceeded upriver. Those who remained, mostly women, packed all they could carry and prepared to break camp in the morrow.
Caleb had told Betsy to expect this. This Shawnee tribe had winter quarters in the south; next spring, they would return to the same wigwams and fields. She had asked if her brother Johnny’s tribe would do the same, and he said it would depend on their food supplies for the winter. “They are Munsee,” he had said, as if that explained everything. She must have looked confused because he added, “Hunters, not farmers.”
On the first day, the villagers walked along the river for hours, feet crunching through half-frozen mud, then turned inland and climbed a bank to reach a trail. When the sun dropped below the horizon, they stopped to eat and sleep under the stars, and then they were on the trail again early the next morning.
Numees had taught Betsy how to tell directions from the sun, and so Betsy calculated that they were heading southeast. At times she felt as if the last few months of safety in the village was a dream, and in truth she was back among the warriors, marching aimlessly toward a bleak and unknown future. She knew she appeared sad, as Numees often tried to cheer her up, pointing out migrating birds in the sky or pressing extra food on her to eat. She seemed worried about her. Numees lightened Betsy’s heavy basket by taking out a reed mat and adding it to her own burden.
Betsy tried to assure her she was fine, that all was well, but it wasn’t. She wasn’t. Her moroseness covered her like a heavy fog.
On the third day, she caught sight of Caleb as he walked with another man. Though he did not look in her direction, she knew he had seen her. He had not sought her out since the day they spent scoring corncobs, when she had told him about Hans, about longing to be reunited with him. She thought she had hurt their friendship beyond repair by telling him the truth.
The next afternoon, the trail grew narrow and steep and twisting as it wound through a thickly wooded forest. Betsy was last in line, struggling with the weight of the heavy basket on her back. Caleb slipped back, helping others cross over a creek, until just the two of them remained. He took her elbow and they continued walking. When the others went round a bend and down a hill, he pulled her off the trail and into a thicket. At first she was frightened. This behavior was so unlike Caleb, and she struggled to break free from his grasp.
“Hush.” He put a finger to her lips. “I am taking you to your people.”
15
Beacon Hollow
November 13, 1763
On the night that Hans had proposed marriage to Tessa, he had told her he would seek out an opportunity to speak to her father at his earliest convenience. Nearly two weeks had passed and he still hadn’t found time for that important conversation. Nor had he kissed Tessa yet. She had hoped he would, had dreamed of the moment, for it was custom when a couple pledged to marry. Instead, Hans only took her hands and gently squeezed them whenever he said good night to her.
Tonight, as her family returned from a visit to Not Faxon’s Farm to check on her perpetually ailing grandmother, Tessa felt wave upon wave of disappointment. She had felt confident that Hans would speak to her father tonight. Alas, Hans wasn’t even at home!
Felix shrugged when she asked him where he was. “Paxton, most likely. He’s been gone all day. He skipped out on church again.”
And her father scowled at that piece of information. “He’s becoming a pig in the python.”
She expected her mother to give him a warning look, but she seemed to agree with his assessment.
This engagement wasn’t proceeding very swiftly.
She hoped her parents would have no objection to their betrothal. After all, getting married would keep Hans settled, in the church, turn his attention away from John Elder and his cronies in Paxton. And she would remain in Stoney Ridge. What more could they want?
A future son-in-law who would actually reveal his plans to marry their daughter, for one.
She spent the rest of the bumpy trip home comforting herself with the thought that Hans would speak to her father tomorrow. Surely, tomorrow he would ride over to Beacon Hollow. Ask her father, get his blessing, set the date. And then she and her mother could begin to plan for the wedding. She could hardly wait to see the pleased look on her mother’s face when she and Hans told their news. Tessa had already planned the wedding meal in her mind.
As the wagon turned up the lane to Beacon Hollow, old Zeeb pricked his ears and let out a bark. Tessa’s father squinted his eyes and peered at the house. “Somebody is on the stoop.”
“Who?” Tessa asked. Her heart started banging around inside. Maybe it was Hans! He had come to speak to her father.
“I can’t see who. It’s too dark,” her father said. Zeeb growled, crouched, ready to bound out of the wagon, until her father’s deep voice ordered him to stay put.
The moon was in hiding. Somewhere far away an owl hooted, and chills shot up Tessa’s back. She strained to see, but all she could make out was the shape of a small person sitting on the stoop.
“It’s probably a Conestoga needing a meal,” her mother said.
Her father pulled the horse to a stop and jumped off the wagon. “Can we help you some way?” he asked.
Tessa kept a warning hand on Zeeb’s head.
Slowly, the person on the stoop rose. At first Tessa thought it was a child, a girl, but then the voice belonged to a woman, though timid sounding, almost afraid. She wore Indian clothing. “Are you Bairn Bauer? The minister?”
“I am.”
“You might not remember me. My name is Betsy Zook.”
Willie’s breath exploded out of him. “It is her! It’s Betsy!” he shouted. He jumped off the wagon, pushed past her father to run toward his sister. As she realized it was her brother who was running toward her in the twilight, she opened her arms wide and suddenly they were hugging fiercely.
If Anna hadn’t heard Betsy Zook identify herself, she would never have recognized her, for she had changed that much. It wasn’t just her clothing, though she wore animal skins for dress and shoes and leggings, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders the way the Conestoga wore their blankets. Her skin was tanned, her blonde hair hung in a long thick plait. And so thin! She didn’t look like a girl anymore.
Despite her joy at encountering her brother, Betsy seemed almost reluctant to come inside the house. Anna noticed that her eyes kept spanning the darkness as if there was someone outside with her. Zeeb sensed someone or something, too, and remained poised on alert, even his drooping tail was pointed, until Bairn whistled to him to follow him and Tessa to the barn with the horse.
Willie was the one who coaxed Betsy inside, tugging her hand until she crossed the threshold. Anna lit the candle on the table as Willie stoked the coals and added kindling to get the blaze started. As the candle flame flickered, it threw shadows across Betsy’s face. She was so terribly thin.
Soon the wood caught and flared, and Anna hung a kettle of water over it to boil. The room quickly warmed. Willie dragged his chair right beside Betsy and the two clutched hands as if they would never let each other go. He kept patting her arm, as if to affirm she was real, that she was here at last.
Anna made a cup of weak tea for Betsy and handed it to her. “How did you get here?”
Betsy took her time answering. “I waited for the right opportunity to escape. We’ve . . . I’ve been walking for days.”
Anna heard echoes of the girl’s voice she remembered, but at the same time it was new to her. “Oh, dear child. You must be so hungry.” She put together a simple meal of bread and milk and served it to Betsy. “I fear your stomach will be tender for some time,” Anna said. “Best to eat slow until you get used to decent food again.”
“The food they gave me . . . it was decent. Mostly.” Betsy smiled, but her eyes had a shielded look, as if she had woken from a dream and wasn’t sure where she was. She seemed . . . bewildered.
Anna sat across from Betsy, unsure of whether to ask questions or let her story unfold when she was ready to tell it. Willie filled in the silence, his words were practically tripping over each other, so eager was he to share his life in Stoney Ridge. He told her about the Conestoga horses, the mighty wagon, the English he was learning, the boys he sat with at the table.
Anna’s heart swelled; he would not be considered poor Willie any longer.
While Betsy finished the bread and milk, he rubbed the sleeve of her deerskin dress. “You look just like an Indian.”
“Come,” Anna said, rising from her chair. “Let’s find something for you to wear.”
Willie tried to follow them into Anna and Bairn’s room, but Anna stopped him. “We won’t be long, Willie, and Bairn and Tessa will wonder what’s happened to us. They should be back from the barn any minute.” They were taking an extraordinarily long time putting the horse away.
Willie’s small face fell.
Betsy put an arm around his shoulder. “When I return, I will look more like the sister you remember.” And that seemed to satisfy him.
Within minutes, Anna had found a flaxen dress, a new shift, an apron, a pair of shoes, and a prayer cap and laid them on the bed. Betsy rose from the chair, curious to see the clothes. She fingered the prayer cap, gossamer thin, and tears filled her eyes. Anna wondered what was running through her mind. Would she ever truly be the sister Willie remembered?
For a brief moment, Anna wasn’t sure if Betsy wanted to abandon her Indian clothing. She rubbed her sleeves, as if committing it to memory, then suddenly yanked and slipped off the deerskin dress. She reached for the shift and covered herself, then pulled the flaxen dress over her head. A moment later Anna was pinning a fresh apron around her. A faint whiff of lavender rose from the cloth and Betsy lifted it to her face and inhaled, letting out a sigh of pleasure.
Anna stepped back and studied her. “Your hair.”
Betsy nodded.
Anna found her wooden comb and began to unbraid and comb out Betsy’s hair. It reminded her of those intimate moments between a mother and a daughter, when Tessa was little and she would comb out her long hair after a Saturday wash.
It took some time before Anna was satisfied with pinning Betsy’s hair. Then she arranged the prayer cap over Betsy’s head.
“How does that feel?”
“It feels strange,” Betsy said. “Strange yet familiar.” She glanced down and smoothed out the wrinkles in her brown dress. “Do I look Amish?”
Anna cupped her face in her hands. “You always did. That hasn’t changed.”
A smile bloomed on Betsy’s face.
Tessa walked the horse down the aisle of the barn and led it into the stall, taking her time as she filled the water bucket and gave the horse a scoop of oats. She carried out the chores slowly, her thoughts felt sluggish and foggy, as if smoke had filled her mind.
Her father appeared at the stall door.
“Tessa, darlin’,” her father said. “I’ve saddled a riding horse. Y’ must go fetch Hans.”
She turned to look at her father. His gray eyes were full of compassion.
“Now, darlin’. Straightaway. Hopefully, he’s returned from Paxton by now. He needs to be told Betsy Zook has returned.”
“Can’t you go?”
“Nae. It needs t’ be you. He needs t’ hear it from you. And y’ need t’ tell him.”
It was one of the hardest things Tessa ever had to do. She went to the horse and climbed astride, then slowly went through the woods toward Not Faxon’s Farm. The horse trotted along easily, without urging or direction. By the time she arrived at Not Faxon’s Farm, Hans had returned from wherever he’d been all day. He opened the door to her knock with a welcoming smile, inviting her to come in, but she refused. She stood on the porch and told him that less than an hour ago, Betsy Zook had shown up at their doorstep. For a moment, Hans seemed puzzled, as if he couldn’t discern her words. Then the news sunk in and he grabbed his hat and coat off the peg, bolted past Tessa, jumped on the horse, and galloped off toward Beacon Hollow. On Tessa’s horse.
She walked home through the woods, though by now it was dark. Her eyes kept filling with tears, splashing down her cheeks, and she felt so ashamed of herself. At war within her: she was glad Betsy had returned; she was sad Betsy had returned.
Why now? Why not six months from now?
She knew that God would guide her through this situation, would want her to trust in His sovereignty completely, but why now? She must not be doing something right.
She picked up her pace and broke into a run, then slowed as she caught sight of the stallion moving through the trees toward Not Faxon’s Farm. His ears were pricked forward, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. She wondered if any of Felix’s broodmares could be in season, if the stallion had picked up a scent and was heading for a visit. Felix would be happy. At least someone would be happy tonight.
Besides Hans and Betsy. They’d be plenty happy.
/> Then she stopped short. She thought she saw a shadow on the far side of the stallion, a man, moving stealthily toward it. Tessa let out a bloodcurdling scream to warn the horse; startled, it galloped away and disappeared. She squinted her eyes to see who had been trying to capture the horse, but saw no one. A shudder went through her; she was certain she had seen someone. She turned and ran as fast as she could toward Beacon Hollow.
She burst in the door, puffing and panting, only to find Hans, weeping, dropped on his knees in front of Betsy. She was gazing down at him and stroking his forehead in a gesture so tender that Tessa’s heart twisted to witness it.
She removed her bonnet and set it wearily on the peg by the door.
“Praise God! You are alive! I knew it. In my heart I knew it,” Hans said over and over again. His voice was raw, hoarse, almost a sob. When he finally recovered his composure, he rose to his feet and held her face in his hands. And then he drew back, his eyes wide in alarm. “Your face. Oh my dearest Betsy. What in God’s name did those savages do to your beautiful face?”
Beacon Hollow
November 17, 1763
Betsy had never told Caleb goodbye. Not goodbye, nor even a thank-you for all he’d done for her, at tremendous personal risk.
After nearly two weeks of walking on foot, over one hundred miles, somehow he had delivered her right to the doorstep of Beacon Hollow. Days spent walking, yes, but also days spent talking. Each night he built a fire to keep them warm, to roast the rabbit or turkey or quail he had caught while she scrounged the forest floor for nuts and wild plants, and then they would talk until the moon rose high in the night sky. They talked about their past, their fond childhood memories—hers of growing up in Germany, his of being raised as a tribute child. But they never once spoke of the future.
When they had finally arrived at Beacon Hollow and realized no one was at home, he told her to wait on the stoop and he would search for food. She assured him that the Bauers would not mind if they waited in the unlocked house, or if they helped themselves to an egg from the henhouse. That was the frontier way, an open hospitality.
The Return Page 17
